Until My Dying Day
by dammitsam
Summary: Angst. Castiel remember his time with Dean. Warning: character death.


Castiel held his hands out as he walked throughout the house, letting fingertips graze every nearby surface. He felt the smooth wall that had to be re-painted every few years when Castiel got bored of the color. He felt the smooth wood of their dining room table, a deep cherry that Dean had spent months looking for. He had spent so much time making that table it had become a part of him. Castiel felt the cold granite countertops of their kitchen, remembering Dean's argument that Castiel "deserved the very best money could buy." The white cotton drapes in the living room fluttered in the spring breeze as Castiel walked past, overflowing his senses with the smell of laundry detergent and the promise of rain. The dark wood of the coffee table stood out from the glass shelves that held the entertainment center, their big television and Dean's extensive collection of DVDs. Their CDs were on the shelves underneath, everything from Metallica to The Script to Mozart. There was still a fine sheet of dust on them. Castiel crouched down in front of the collection, reading the album name on every one, absently tracing an Enochian sigil into the dust. He got up quickly, leaving the sigil where it was and entered the hallway. The sun was shining brightly on the recently polished hardwood floors, all bright pinks and vibrant blues and fiery oranges as the light came through the stained glass window in the front door. He slowly made his way to the staircase, recently carpeted after Castiel's last slip. He had been carrying laundry down from their room and had slipped on the last step. He'd been fine but Dean had become paranoid and had insisted on carpeting. It was a simple white. Dean figured it would be easy to clean. It still looked like it had been put in yesterday. Upstairs, Castiel walked slowly, taking time to look at each picture hanging on the wall and remember. There was one of Castiel, Sam, and Sam's girlfriend at the time, now wife, Sarah, watching fireworks one night in August. Dean had found them in Bobby's house and figured it would be a fun way to celebrate another hunt well done. Sam had turned to Castiel and whispered, "I'm pretty sure Bobby used the other half of the box on a hunt one time." Castiel had thought that over and when he realized he was less shocked and more amused, he realized that fireworks probably could be used on a hunt. He had tried to remember to bring it up with Bobby, but he never had. The next one in the line of black-framed memories was a picture of Dean and Castiel. Dean had taken Castiel and Sam fishing, "bonding time" he'd called it. They had rented a pontoon and took off for a week, took a break from hunting, a break from their lives. It was the first time Castiel had been fishing. Sam had taken the picture. The boat had a bench seat in the back, where Sam had been taking a nap, and chairs up front, where Castiel was being taught how to bait and cast his line. Dean believed in only live bait and had picked up a bucket of minnows from the bait shop on shore. It was getting later in the day, the sun low enough to turn everything a pleasant golden shade and turning Dean's eyes an even deeper olive color. With both lines finally baited, Dean had brought them both to their feet. He cast his own and then set the pole down, leaning it against the railing that went around the boat. He then turned to Castiel and came up behind him, aligning their bodies, placing his hands over Castiel's and his chest against Castiel's back. Castiel know how to fish, eons of being an angel had taught him as much, but on feeling the warmth of Dean's body against him, the argument died on his tongue. He let Dean guide their arms back over their shoulders and quickly flick the pole back, sending the line out a good fifty feet. Dean moved his arms so they circled around Castiel's waist and Castiel leaned into him a little, waiting for the weight towards the end of the line to drag it down an acceptable depth. Dean pressed his lips to Castiel's neck and Castiel could feel it when the taller man started humming. When Castiel was satisfied, he turned the handle once, stopping the line from dropping any deeper. Dean stepped back slowly, moving back to grab his pole and sit down on the edge, letting his feet hang in the water. Castiel had sat down next to him, closer than was probably necessary but not close enough for Castiel's tastes. They sat like that for a while, until Castiel's head fell on Dean's shoulder. Dean had scooted closer, as if they weren't already joined from shoulder to knee, even their bare feet bumping each other's occasionally as they waited for a bite. Sam had woken up then and had grabbed the camera, his every intention of getting hard evidence that his brother had turned into a total sap after Castiel had fallen and they'd finally gotten up the nerve to admit their feelings. Just as Sam had the camera up to his eyes, some expensive thing Dean had bought him for his birthday that year, Castiel's head shot off Dean's shoulder. Something had tugged on his line, hard, sending him and Dean, who had tangled their fingers together at some point, into the water. Sam had captured the picture just before they had fallen in, losing the fish and Castiel's pole in one go. You couldn't really tell it was them until someone told you. Otherwise it looked like two silhouettes against water that had been stained pink and orange and gold in the sunset. But once you knew, it was obvious, Castiel's unruly hair on one of the silhouettes and Dean's overshirt billowing out on the other. They had quickly given up on fishing after that, opting to head back to the cabin they had rented out. Sam had teased them about smelling like fish until Dean got up from his spot next to Castiel where he'd been lying, letting the warm air dry them out, and wrapped Sam in a slightly awkward hug, given that Sam was driving the boat. Sam had let out an undignified squawk when Dean's dripping arms had tightened around him and he quickly shook his brother off. Dean just laughed and took his spot by Castiel, who had opened a little to watch the scene. They were shut again now so he only felt it when Dean pressed up against his side again and took his hand. They fell asleep and Sam woke them up after tying off the boat, surprisingly gently considering Dean's hug earlier. It had been one of the best days of Castiel's existence. The last frame on the wall held a picture Bobby had taken about a month ago. Sam and Bobby had come over to play poker one night. They played a couple of hands before Sam, Dean, and Castiel had ended up on the couch, Bobby claiming the armchair by the window as his own. They were all sleepy from the long day and one too many beers during the game but they still fought to pay attention to the movie, some Western that had been in the DVD player practically since they had moved in. Bobby had drifted off about half an hour in, waking up to find the menu on screen again. He looked over at the three boys on the couch and couldn't suppress a chuckle. Castiel was curled up in the corner of the couch, his head pillowed on the arm. Dean was asleep, resting his head on Castiel. Sam was funniest though. Never one to sleep all curled up like Castiel, Sam liked to sprawl out when he slept, a trait Bobby had discovered early one. Sam's head was cushioned on Dean's thigh and his legs were thrown over the arm. Bobby had gotten up quietly and snuck the camera out from where it was perched on some of Sam's things in the kitchen. The sound of the shutter had woken Castiel but he just pretended to be asleep, enjoying Dean's weight on his side. He had heard Bobby leave shortly after that before he fell back asleep. Soon, it had seemed, Dean had been shaking his shoulder a bit in an attempt to wake him up. Castiel had gotten up, somewhat reluctantly, and said goodbye to Sam, hugging him tightly before heading up to bed. Dean was close behind, sticking around downstairs to say goodbye to his brother himself and to set the alarm. Now Castiel had reached the door to their room. It was still closed. He took a deep breath and just rested his forehead on the door, his hands bracing the frame. He stayed like that for what felt like hours but was probably only minutes. Taking another deep breath, he turned around. He couldn't go in. Not now. Not when he knew it would be empty. All he wanted was to lay in bed and go to sleep but he couldn't sleep in that bed without Dean. And Dean wasn't coming home anymore. Castiel went back downstairs, paying little attention to the lights Dean had strung up on the railing around Christmas or to the small table by the door that was covered in unpaid bills. He left the house quickly, locking the door more out of habit than any real worry about the contents of the house. The only thing of value had already been taken. Sam was waiting in the Impala in the driveway and he didn't say anything as Castiel got in. Neither spoke as Sam put the car in gear and backed out. Neither spoke when they passed the cemetery, though both pairs of eyes drifted to the spot they knew by heart. Neither spoke when they reached Sam's house. Then suddenly, Castiel turned to Sam and whispered, his voice too broken to get any louder, "Thank you."


End file.
